


The Early, Awkward Years

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Comedy, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: Victor Nikiforov wasn't always smooth and suave. His singular focus on skating created a pronounced inability to people, and Chris winds up bearing the brunt of his sexual incompetence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Why isn't Burt's Bees available in Russia? Pretend it is.
> 
> Co-authored by [TheVeryWorstThing](http://theveryworstthing.tumblr.com) <3

Chris doesn’t spend the year at St. Petersburg with the intention of seducing Victor Nikiforov, but two months before the season starts he realizes he’s been staring at Victor’s ass during practice just a little too often, just a little too hard, and why not do something about it?

Victor has three years on him, undeniably senior in virtually everything. Every year, when Chris hopes he might eclipse Victor, Victor manages to shine all the brighter. It makes Chris equal parts frustrated and sexually frustrated.

“Why don’t we go somewhere tonight? The two of us?” Chris suggests as Victor gets out of his ballet class. At nineteen, Chris considers himself decently experienced in such things, but is still surprised by Victor’s response.

“Oh, you want to bang,” Victor says, completely nonchalant about it all. He flicks his braid over his shoulder. “You should have said so sooner. I have practice right now so it’ll have to wait until after.”

And he walks away. 

Two minutes later, Chris’ phone buzzes with a Google Calendar invite:

 **Bang**  
With: Victor Nikiforov  
Motel Molotov  
7:00-7:30pm

Chris is confused. Perhaps Victor gets these kinds of requests all the time, and the only way he can handle all of them is to schedule them like classes? 

Motel Molotov, though… Motel Molotov is two blocks from the rink and only has three working letters in its neon sign; its pool is covered in a half-frozen mess of algae that’s been around long enough to gain sentience, and the proprietor looks like death incarnate.

Chris is Concerned, but surely Victor knows what he’s doing…. right?

Victor is waiting promptly at 7:00 and greets Chris with a cheerful wave. By 7:03 they’re in the room and Victor has shed all of his clothes without ceremony - though he does organize them on a chair. He walks straight to the bed, throws the comforter to the floor, and lays down on his back. No flirtatious looks. No coy over the shoulder glances. Just… stares at the ceiling, waiting, buck naked. 

“What are you doing?” Chris asks, because he has to ask.

“You gotta take the comforter off the bed; you know they never wash those things,” Victor winks. “Don’t want to get bedbugs.”

‘Concerned’ is getting closer and closer to ‘Horrified’ with every moment.

On the one hand, there is Victor Nikiforov, naked, on his back, ready and willing. On the other hand, he’s just LAYING there, and he said ‘bed bugs’, and Chris is having a really hard time -- well, no, he’s having a very soft time, and that’s the problem.

Chris has a sneaking suspicion that Victor actually has no idea what he’s doing.

“Why don’t you… undress me?” Chris asks, like maybe it’ll click for Victor that lying motionless on a bed isn’t the sexiest thing in the world.

Now it’s Victor’s turn to be confused. 

So Chris takes the lead and starts seductively stripping. Victor seems into it but keeps glancing at his watch, and by the time Chris slinks over to the side of the bed the only thing he can say is: “So, how long do you usually take to finish? Because we have, like, 13 minutes. 5 if we want to get coffee after.”

Chris starts to smile, thinking it’s a joke. 

But Victor is dead serious. 

Chris considers his options: admit defeat, slink home, and pretend this strange chapter in his sexual history never happened, or make the most out of the weirdest situation he’s been in in a long time.

He’s pretty sure he can’t get hard at this point, but fuck if he’s not going to do _something_ to the very naked Victor in front of him.

“Let’s see how long it takes _you_ ,” Chris says, barely managing not to wince. It’s the corniest thing he’s ever said and fuck Victor ten ways from Tuesday for bringing him to this. He slides his hand around Victor’s dick and makes a mental note to send Victor an hour long calendar invite next time.

When it’s done, which doesn’t take long at all (Chris’ suspicions about Victor’s level of experience are rapidly gaining confirmation), Victor just sits up with a smile and says “Thanks!”

He spares a half glance at Chris’ very flat crotch: “Sooooo… raincheck?”

“Eeeeyeah,” Chris stutters.

Chris still jerks off that night thinking about it, and he still gets hard the next day watching Victor in ballet. He still fucking comes during his routine, knowing that Victor’s watching him, and jesus he has to fix this. 

While Chris is busy processing this new sexual torment, Victor thinks that everything went well. He hangs around Chris more and more, because he touched his dick that one time so surely they’re friends with benefits now. Or they will be, if his schedule ever opens up again. 

A few days later, Victor asks Chris if he wants “a quickie” so they don’t have to wait to schedule another time, and Chris is simultaneously intrigued and horrified. 

Because last time _wasn’t_ a quickie?

Chris has to know. It’s like a car crash. So he says sure and Victor brings him to the handicap stall and puts his hand in Chris’ pants.

It’s awful. Like, who taught him this? Like is this what he does to _himself_?

“Do me too,” Victor says, while Chris is too dumbfounded to respond. 

So Chris does, because there are two people trying to have sex in here and at least one of them shouldn’t be garbage. He reaches into Victor’s pants and gets to work. 

Victor just freezes for a second before his legs start to slowly give out. He proceeds to kind of awkwardly melt into Chris, which is cute, but Chris can’t help mentally screaming when Victor starts to dirty talk. If it can even be considered dirty talk. 

Chris is going soft again, but it’s not the biggest loss because Victor can’t focus on two things at once and his hand’s stopped doing anything. Chris is working as fast as he can and just praying he never hears the words ‘sex stick’ again in his life. 

“You’re jerking my wiener so good baby,” Victor mumbles happily for the third time. Chris is dying. He’s dying and in hell and Victor’s dick is satan. 

The split second after Victor comes Chris is full on sprinting out of that bathroom. He can never use it again, and even seeing it in his periphery has a tendency to make his skin crawl.

“Victor. You need lessons.”

“What?”

“You. Need. Lessons,” Chris says emphatically. He holds out a thumb drive. “This is your homework. Watch all of these. Then you need to schedule at least a lesson a week.”

The first one is a literal sex ed video. Not even porn. Victor feels like he should be offended, but admittedly learns a good deal of new information.

The next day Chris sends him a text that just says: “BANNED WORDS: Wiener”

There’s a new banned word every day. Chris doesn’t even have to look up the first 12, they were all spoken in that godforsaken bathroom and he’s vaguely considering hypnosis to help with the recurring nightmares.

By day 14 Victor’s basically out of bathroom vocabulary, but that’s OK because one of those videos _was_ porn and when Victor says, at the beginning of their first lesson (he failed miserably at scheduling the first week) “Can you touch my cock again?” Chris hears the heavens part and the angels sing. 

He’s never more happily given a handjob.

The issue now, of course, is that Victor’s started moaning like a porno girl. Chris can even remember which video it’s from. He has to discourage it on principle, but he also shamefully jerks off to it when he's alone at night. 

The next time, Victor thinks they can use Sweet Pea hand lotion as lube. The smell lasts for days, no matter how hard Chris tries to scrub his crotch.

When Chris says no the next time, Victor instead offers Burt’s Bees: “Baby Bee Calming Lotion”. 

Chris is half tempted to let Victor get some in his butt just so he’ll never suggest anything like it again, but he can’t quite bring himself to it. He goes to use it on his hands when Victor makes a face and says he bought it just for their butts. A crippling realization, but at least one that leads to Chris adopting the pet name ‘Baby Bee’ for Victor. 

Baby Bee Victor, who still doesn’t have the hang of seduction. He’s gotten as far as pulling Chris’ pants off before he starts stripping but that’s about it. As far as he’s concerned, the good part is the naked part, and he wants to get there as quickly as possible. 

The Motel Molotov proprietor learns their names.

It’s been a month and Victor still hasn’t realized that Chris has never actually come. Chris is painfully aware of the fact, but that’s what the time afterwards is for.

Victor leans over one evening, trying to be coy. He even walks his fingers up Chris’ chest (this is a miracle, as far as Chris is concerned). 

“So when are we going to…. you know….” Victor starts, his ass wiggling slightly. “ _Butt sex_.”

Chris is so tired. He tries not to laugh because Victor is clearly _trying_ but it’s very hard. And very soft.

He says Victor isn’t ready for that yet and maybe they should take it slow. He doesn’t want Victor to get hurt. Victor is confused: “Who said I was going to bottom?”

Chris is filled with fear, but also overjoyed that Victor used ‘bottom’ appropriately. 

“I know!” Victor says. “I’ll lick you.”

They still have language issues from time to time and Chris wonders if that’s the case here. Victor gives him this giant, toothy grin and Chris has never been more frightened. He wouldn’t put it past Victor to bite him. Joyfully.

“Uhhhh…” Chris hesitates as Victor goes down. Concerned doesn’t begin to cover it.

And then: Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Chris’ eyes shoot open and his dick goes hard and holy. Fucking. _Fucking_. Shit. 

Victor Nikiforov was born to suck cock.

It’s the best blow job he’s ever gotten. He pinches himself because this _has_ to be a dream. There’s _no way_ that sweet, virginal, unsexy Victor could possibly be making him feel this good.

In retrospect, it makes some sense. A sex position where Victor can’t talk, only has one job, and can’t get overly distracted by his own boner. 

There’s a bit of turbulence when Chris comes and Victor has no idea what to do with it. He almost spits it in Chris’ lap before Chris grabs a small trash can and holds it under him like a cat threatening to hack up a hairball.

Victor ends up swallowing in panic.

“That wasn’t so bad.”

Chris is just holding the trashcan, pants around his ankles, wondering how he got attracted to this. 

The next time (for once, Chris is looking forward to next time instead of dreading it), Chris winds up buying Victor a hairband. He holds it out and feels decidedly funny, treating it like a date present, but the come blended in so well with Victor’s silver hair last time that he almost walked out with some by his ear. So it’s… a necessity, right?

Victor, looking at it, has such a pavlovian sexual response to the motel that it takes him a minute to figure out it’s a hairband and not a cock ring. He literally stretches it over his fingers and mumbles “It’s too big” before his brain clicks and he ties up his hair. Chris is confused but doesn’t ask. It’s his coping mechanism for a lot of things Victor-related.

Victor’s also started asking about “The Kinky Shit” now that anal might be on the table again. The very, very shaky table.

Chris is doing the mental calculations to see how many blowjobs it’ll take to make up for The Horror that came before but he knows he can’t put anal off forever. And quite frankly he just can’t imagine Victor being anything more than incompetent as a top, so he starts brainstorming ways to make Victor want his dick.

He considers just being forward and asking Victor if he’d like to try letting Chris finger him, but mid-thought has a horrible premonition about dislocated wrists. Then he thinks about toys. Something small, that Victor can try himself.

He should not have told Victor about this plan before he got the toy.

Victor improvises. 

He can’t even understand the text message but when Victor shows up in the middle of the night Chris manages to fish the sharpie out and they both thank god the emergency room didn’t have to get involved. 

Victor says it was great before he lost his grip, though. 

So there’s that. 

“As long as your dick doesn’t fall off,” Victor says, and for some reason Chris considers the possibility, “We’ll be fine.”

Victor’s still only gotten a few orgasms out of Chris, but he’s watched enough commercials about this blue pill to know that maybe Chris needs some help. After all, what _other_ explanation could there be for the fact that Chris’ dick is always going soft?

He takes it upon himself to acquire one of these pills and makes them both drinks. Why he doses himself is anyone’s guess. 

“What did you put in this?” Chris asks, because the glass is obviously foggy as fuck.

“I watched the commercial,” Victor says, all but glowing with pride at his insight and accomplishment. “They said it would help you keep your stiffie.”

Chris stares at Victor. 

Looks down at his phone.

Victor’s phone buzzes: “BANNED WORDS: Stiffie”

In terms of the Viagra, Chris is mortified and a little pissed. He assumed Victor hadn’t noticed, but here they are. He’s at a loss as he swirls his drugged drink and tries to wipe the word ‘stiffie’ from his mind.

“When’s your next appointment,” Chris finally asks, because he remembers the warnings on the commercials.

“My 8 O’clock cancelled,” Victor grins. “I’m free for the night.”

Chris knows he’s going to regret this. He knows it’s probably one of the worst decisions he could make. 

“Fuck it.” Literally. Figuratively. He doesn’t care anymore. 

He chugs the drink to get it out of his mind. 

“Alright. Let’s kiss first,” Chris says, because he still has to treat Victor like a fucking child. “Then you blow me, then I fuck you.”

Victor’s… pretty bad at kissing, but it’s one of the things he’s gotten significantly better at, and as long as his mouth’s occupied Chris doesn’t have to worry about him saying anything.

Chris takes the moment to do some Sex Math, because even though they’re now in this… situation… Victor rushes Everything. Should he make this a learning experience about foreplay or should he just see if Victor can follow the script without sending one of them to the hospital? Plus, he needs to double check that he brought lube because he’s not going to walk a block to the corner store with a boner and if he sees that Burt’s Bees he’s gonna flip kittens.

Victor’s making fish lips at him, more than happy to start with kissing, and Chris cringes. He grabs Victor’s hand and pulls him away from the table, over to the bed.

“Sit down,” he says, because the last time he tried to get Victor to do something non verbally he wound up on the floor with a goose-egg on his skull. 

He looks at Victor’s watch. “I want you to take off my clothes - BUT, you can’t finish until five minutes have passed.” There’s an audible beep from Victor’s watch as he sets the timer and then he just leans back and waits to see how Victor’s going to fuck this one up. If the night’s going to end in flames no matter what he does, he’s at least going to make it an interesting ride.

Victor, at least, is good at following directions, but there’s still absolutely nothing sexy about it. His attempts wind up just being what he normally does - only comically slow. He starts to slide Chris’ pants down and when he sees Chris looking down at him with thinly veiled concern he mistakes it for arousal (because that’s the face Chris makes whenever they have sex) and has an idea. 

Keeping eye contact, he lowers his mouth to Chris’ crotch.

Promising. 

Until his teeth hit the zipper of the pants he hadn’t quite pulled down far enough. 

But he rolls with it! And tries to unzip it with his mouth. ( _It was already unzipped_ , Chris thinks, but he admires Victor’s gumption and doesn’t stop him).

That’s when Victor’s lip gets caught. 

He doesn’t let Chris know right away. He’s got something going here, so he just kind of gently pats the bulge borderline poking him in the eye with one hand while he works his lip loose. 

To his credit, he succeeds, and the blood seems minimal.

When Chris sees it, his first thought is _Thank god it’s not my cock_. He’d worry more about that, except the Viagra’s kicked in and nothing can get rid of his boner now.

“That’s good,” he encourages, and even goes so far as to pet Victor’s hair. Good is probably five steps too generous, but Victor’s learning.

It takes him another minute to realize that Viagra is a blood thinner, and that explains why Victor’s lip won’t. Stop. Bleeding.

Victor insists he’s fine but Chris is pretty sure that’s Viagra Victor talking. He mentally goes back to the drawing board after he gets Victor lying down with a now-ruined damp hotel washcloth held to his mouth. This picture is aesthetically pleasing but his blowjob is probably out of the question now.

He grieves. 

And he’s really not sure he can fuck Victor while he’s looking so sweet - or as sweet as you can look with a bruised lip and a raging boner. They’re both starting to ache now. Chris thought it would take at least a half hour before he _really_ regretted his decision and he only made it about ten minutes.

“Here,” he finally says. “Just… watch me.”

Maybe if he can’t explain sexiness he can at least give Victor a good example.

He finishes stripping and it’s not quite as sexy as he would like because that boat’s sailed. But he lays back on the bed and stretches out luxuriously. One hand slowly massages the base of his cock while the other flicks at his nipples and drags fingernails across his thighs. He sighs and closes his eyes for a second before he feels the bed shift and Victor is Right. There.

Staring.

It’s 50/50 hot/terrifying.

“You look like you’re on the ice.”

“Uhhh…”

Chris is confused because it’s not like he doesn’t know what goes on between him and the ice, but he didn’t know he went full on Sex Face at work. Victor just looks thoughtful as he kind of absentmindedly humps the mattress (he still strips off the comforter. Every. Single. Time.). Chris really shouldn’t be finding it adorable but there’s this fraction of a wiggle with every hump that’s making him swoon.

Victor’s head snaps up like he just realized something.

“It’s like a routine.”

Chris decides to roll with it.

“Y.. yes? I guess? There’s definitely a performance aspect.”

Chris is about to make a quip about horrible scores and barely stops himself. 

“And different things earn different points,” Victor says, and as an experiment lets his nails trail up Chris’ inner thigh, just like Chris did.

Chris groans and his cock twitches in his hand, which makes Victor even more excited.

“Only each judge is different, so you have to figure out what moves get their points.”

He’s eager now but collected in a way Chris hasn’t seen before. He’s looking funny at Chris, and then his eyes do this thing where suddenly Victor’s not an adorable and incompetent puppy. He’s _there_ over Chris, sultry, and his body rolls against Chris’ bare one and it’s _good_. “And there's a mood to it. A theme?”

Chris knows he has to be careful because everything is going so well and Victor is grinding down on him with bruised red lips and a competitive gleam in his eyes and he can’t really think because this is what he wanted from the beginning - fuck. But he also knows he can’t let Victor pick the theme because just minutes ago there was that ‘stiffie’ incident. He decides to go simple. 

He rolls his hips up and watches Victor’s eyelashes flutter as he hisses in a breath.

“How about Eros?”

“Eros?” Victor echoes, and Chris can tell at a glance that Victor doesn’t know the word. 

“It’s Greek. One of the types of love. Sexual love. Passion. Sensuality,” Chris says. His hands glide up Victor’s back, secretly doubling as a tool to hold him where he is. They’ve got the beginnings of a rhythm going, the way they’re rocking, cocks grinding together. 

Then Victor, sweet Victor, who’s never, ever been sexy in bed, suddenly calls on all the times he’s felt that raw, dark, bestial energy on the ice. 

“Eros,” he repeats, tongue flicking against the bruise on his lip.

Victor straightens up, arching his back and grinding down on Chris’ cock as hard as the hands on his back allow. He lifts an only-slightly-shaking hand and pulls the scrunchie from his hair so that it cascades over his shoulders and when he leans over again it drapes around them like a veil.

Chris has to stop himself from grabbing a fistful and dragging Victor down. It’s painfully tempting, the soft wisps of hair fluttering across his skin and the space between them growing hotter and slicker by the second. The hands making not-so-gentle paths up and down his body and Victor still looking at him with Those Eyes. Those Eyes that are starting to become ever so slightly glazed with pleasure. Chris is dying to graze his teeth over that bruise while Victor breathes sweet little moans into his mouth.

But he doesn’t, because the part of his brain that is still functioning notes that that’s a good way to chip a tooth or break a nose or die. Really any of the above, with their luck. 

But the thought still makes his cock twitch and Chris catches himself whimpering as he bites on his own bottom lip.

Fuck. He’s so close already. This is ridiculous. 

He settles for grabbing Victor’s hips with both hands and thrusting up with a roughness that he doesn’t entirely mean but isn’t - if Victor’s sudden moan and trembling thighs are any judge - unwelcome. Chris settles into a fast, hard rhythm that makes Victor melt into him. Heat pools in his belly as his thrusts become frantic. Victor curls over him and places trembling lips next to his ear.

“Come for me, Chris.”

Chris feels his muscles tighten.

“Shoot your hot Swiss spunk all over me.”

Chris comes.

The waves of pleasure do not make him any less furious about the fact that he just orgasmed to the phrase “Hot Swiss Spunk”. 

Victor is confused when his orgasm doesn’t follow Chris’. It takes him a second to realize that Chris has lifted his hips up and away from that good, good friction, much to his dismay. He tries to reach for his dripping cock but Chris’ hand comes up and grabs him by the wrist.

“That,” Chris pants, “is a penalty.”

“Wha- I -” 

“Banned word. Words. Just -- If you want to make up for lost points, no touching yourself.”

Victor shifts and feels his cock bob against his belly. The hand on his hip is so close. _He_ is so close. It wouldn’t take much, just one quick tight stroke. 

Those points tho. 

Victor’s too much of a competitor to come at the cost of points. He sits back on his heels and stares at Chris, because he can’t touch himself, and Chris already came, and … well… he’s not sure what else there is to sex?

He slinks up next to Chris, lying on his side, and noses Chris’ shoulder to disguise the fact that he’s trying to grind on Chris’ hip.

“How long does this penalty last?” His dick is getting a tiny bit purply. 

Viagra: Terrible idea. 

Chris hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he does notice Victor’s not-so-sneaky attempts at dry-humping him and scoots his hips away. 

Then he remembers - the “first time” and the “quickie” - and has an idea.

“Two good orgasms.”

“What?”

“I’ll count the one I just had as a half point, but I’m gonna need at least one great orgasm to make up for your deficit. You have too many past penalties for me to go on good faith. You’re a loose cannon.”

Victor is appalled, and horny, and flinches as the list continues. He knew he wasn’t doing GREAT but loose cannon? He sulks as he does the math in his head: 1.5 orgasms before he can get off.

He just needs Chris to get hard again.

Actually, Chris is… already kind of hard again?

Viagra: Best. Idea. Ever.

It takes a moment but Victor manages to peel his dick away from Chris’ hip. 

He knows Chris likes his mouth, but he also knows that come tastes pretty gross and Chris’ dick is covered in it. 

… but he really, really wants those points. 

He starts lapping at Chris’ lower stomach, and Chris is pretty surprised it’s actually working. He knew Victor was competitive but he hadn’t so much as questioned this imaginary sex point system that Chris made up on the spot.

He supposes he has Victor’s raging boner to thank for that. 

He’s still a bit sensitive from his last orgasm when he feels Victor’s tongue lap over the head of his cock. He hesitates for a moment, then runs his fingers through Victor’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Victor moans, taking him a little deeper. 

_Good boy_ , Chris thinks, only to notice Victor’s hips shifting against the sheets. 

Spoke too soon. 

He gives a light tug on the silvery hair. Victor squeaks and looks up at him with irritation, but lifts his hips.

He needs those points. 

Lifting his own hips a fraction, Chris reminds Victor what he’s supposed to be focusing on, and Victor returns to his ministrations. In the interest of not getting penalized any further, he even tucks his knees under him, which has the beautiful effect of shoving his ass into the air. Chris notices, and Victor notices Chris noticing, and the next moment he’s giving his ass a little jostle, a shimmy, and taking Chris in another inch. 

Chris rewards him with another long pet, sliding his fingernails back from Victor’s forehead to the nape of his neck. Emboldened by Chris’ approval, Victor wraps a hand around the base of his cock and takes him as deep as he can. He doesn’t expect Chris to make That Sound or for the fist to tighten in his hair, but the combination makes him shudder. He sucks harder, bobbing his head as Chris guides him. 

Chris is just trying to keep his wits about him. Victor’s mouth is too wet, too hot, and the sight of his ass swaying in the air as he fucks it is getting to be too much. On the next bob he gently tugs Victor off his cock and almost comes to the sight of him whimpering as it slips out of his mouth. 

Victor gulps and wipes a hand across his lips. He feels like he should care just a little more about how sticky everything in the world currently seems to be.

“Did I do something --”

Chris’ mouth is on his in a flash. The kiss makes Victor’s head spin, and Chris doesn’t fare much better.

“Wait here,” he says. 

Time to see if he packed that lube. 

Not touching his dick is probably the hardest thing Victor’s ever done, but he’s eager, so he just stays there, kneeling, waiting, watching Chris’ increasingly frustrated expression as he digs through his bag.

Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

Chris curses and looks up at Victor, poised on the bed, panting softly still. Then he looks down between his legs, at a cock almost dripping with saliva. 

“Lay down,” he says. 

Victor is pretty sure he knows what’s going on, or at least he hopes he does. He rolls over onto his stomach before the jolt of heat from grazing against the bed as him lying out on his back instead. Chris kneels beside him and kisses him deep and slow before drawing back and nudging two fingers between Victor’s slightly parted lips. 

“We’re going to try something,” Chris huffs. “I don’t have any --”

Victor is sucking the fingers into his mouth and running his tongue in between them before Chris can finish. Chris’ brain turns to static and clips through reality. 

Victor looks up into his heavy lidded eyes and feels a surge of power that he makes a note to exploit when his dick isn’t blasting an arousal air horn directly into his face. 

Chris’ brain seems to restart when Victor drags the fingers out of his mouth and lays back on the bed. He spreads his legs and raises his knees, dragging his nails over his thighs like he saw Chris do. His teeth catch his bottom lip and he looks up at Chris with what he knows from years of practice is his most ‘give me whatever I want’ look. 

“Please,” he moans.

Chris’ brain crashes again.

When he comes back to his senses he’s lying beside Victor and pressing kisses into his throat as he works his finger into him. He would be more concerned about the time-skip if Victor’s nails weren’t leaving little pink trails on his back, if Victor wasn’t making all sorts of appealing sounds that he knows he’ll be jacking off to for months, but, you know, whatever.

He’s earned this.

Victor’s name tumbles out of his mouth before he can help himself and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that Victor could ask him to eat shit right now and he’d do it with a smile. How Victor suddenly transformed is beyond him, but he can’t think about it for too long because Victor’s ass is like a second mouth and the sensations around his fingers (when did he add another? Was that why Victor made that squeaky gasp?) NEED to be around his dick. 

Victor worked hard to get those fingers in his ass, and he isn’t too eager to give them up when Chris starts pulling them out. He whines and bucks against Chris’ hand and has to be silenced with a kiss. Maybe it’s for the best - he was getting so close again. 

When Chris finally kneels between his legs and the head of his cock pushes past his entrance, Victor feels the mild ache of arousal turn razor sharp. 

Oh wait. 

Oh dang. 

“I think,” Victor begins. 

“We might need”

“My Burt’s Bees.”

Chris’ tombstone will say _Here lies Chris Giacometti, 19, dead by Victor Nikiforov’s Burt’s Bees_.

“Wait,” Chris begs. “Wait.” 

He’s dropping kisses on Victor’s jawline, trying not to let the idea of Burt’s Bees actually penetrate his consciousness. 

“It gets easier. Give it a moment.”

He doesn’t push in any deeper. It takes all of his self control and willpower but he manages to stay still, praying to god, every god, any god that will listen, that Victor’s body adapts. 

He figures it would be worse on Victor, the lotion. And it would be Victor’s idea, so Chris wouldn’t be blamed. But it might limit the chances of this ever happening again, and Chris really, REALLY wants this to happen again. 

Victor shifts underneath him after what feels like an eternity and gives a small, approving sound.

“Maybe… maybe try moving a little.” 

Chris is wary, but hopeful (he has to be or he might go crazy), and slowly pushes inside him. Victor makes a few squeaks along the way, and there’s a mid-point stop to acquire a pillow to prop under his hips, but eventually Chris is flush against him. 

“This is nice,” Victor decides. His long hair is tousled gorgeously around his head, lips bright and moist, nipples hard. Chris teases one with the tip of his nail, rewarded by a delicious tightening of Victor’s body, then smooths the hurt away with his thumb. It’s everything Chris wanted from Day 1, everything he worried would be impossible about ten minutes into Day 1. 

“How’s my score?” Victor asks, and as he does he tilts his hips away from Chris and then back again, fucking himself on the last inch of Chris’ dick. The tip of his own dick is brushing Chris’ stomach from time to time, but he can hardly be penalized for that, right?

Chris just groans and pulls almost all the way out, only to snap his hips forward into Victor’s willing body. Then again. And again. Victor gasps and sees spots for a moment before he hears Chris through the fog of sensations. 

“Personal best,” Chris growls against his throat. “I’d say at least bronze.”

And of course, Victor’s deeply affronted that he’s not gold, and vows to do something about it.

“I want to win,” he growls, rolling his body up underneath Chris until they’re both kneeling. As he pushes his lips against Chris’ he twists them, then shoves Chris down onto his back, Victor atop him.

His teeth show as he grits them together and pushes his body back down onto Chris. He feels Chris’ cock slide deep and then lifts himself up off of it again. His hair is all around him, so he tosses it back and brings his hands up his body, touching his thighs, his abdomen, keening as he grinds down onto Chris’ dick.

Chris is too stunned (and frankly impressed -- and perhaps a bit scared when he thinks about it later) to say anything at first. But when he realizes what’s happening he plants his hands on Victor’s thighs and thrusts up into him when Victor pushes down on his cock. The force of it makes them both groan and Chris takes Victor’s stunned moment to give into an earlier desire. He pulls Victor down by a fistful of silvery hair and runs his tongue over the worried open cut on his lip. 

“What did I tell you about touching yourself.”

“I wouldn’t have to touch my-- ah my self… if you fucked me hard enough.”

Chris concedes that he has a point.

His thrusts start to pick up pace, until their kiss becomes impossible to maintain and Victor winds up panting against Chris’ throat. 

It’s far easier for Chris to thrust in this position, when he’s not simultaneously planking to support his weight. With one hand embedded in Victor’s hair, the other clenching Victor’s ass, Chris can basically thrust no holds barred and have all the leverage he needs to keep Victor in his place. 

And he does. 

Victor has made a slight miscalculation. On the one hand, a new discovery that those late night sessions with The Sharpie had already hinted at: he is _really_ into bottoming. On the other hand, Chris is starting to pound into him at a borderline dangerous speed that might be giving him the ability to taste color. He thinks about taking back his ill-thought-out challenge, but his pride and the electric feeling that makes his spine go rigid whenever Chris readjusts the grip on his hair say no. His best bet is to just hold on and hope for the best, which is going well until Chris shifts his hips and hits something that makes Victor literally see stars. 

He wails into Chris’ neck and feels his cock twitch in the puddle of pre-come between them. Chris pets his hair and whispers praise but doesn’t let up on his assault.

“Chris -- ah-- feels -- need --” 

Chris tilts his head up so he can look him in the eye. Victor looks amazingly wrecked. Chris takes a chance:

“Tell me what you need. Let me give it to you, darling.”

Victor closes his eyes and lets out a whine as Chris thrusts into that spot again. He’s forgotten what to say. He just thinks-- 

“I need --”

And he comes so hard he almost blacks out. 

Chris feels it and holds him there and doesn’t stop pounding into him while he coils tighter and tighter around him. What feels like years later, Victor feels Chris flex and stiffen beneath him. He knows the hand gripping his ass is going to leave bruises and there’s going to be shed hair everywhere, but he doesn’t care because Chris is still weakly thrusting into him and whimpering and shaking and time isn’t real. 

And who even needs Burt’s Bees anyway?

Fuck Burt. 

Chris is kissing him. His hips have finally stopped. Victor feels like his whole body is pulsing and he can feel his heartbeat in his toes, his fingertips, his ass. He’s dizzy, but Chris is warm and stable and so he just nuzzles underneath Chris’ chin and curls his body a little. 

“What’s my final score?” Victor murmurs. 

“Still tallying,” Chris mutters, dumbly. He’s got his fingers all tangled in Victor’s hair. His dick’s softening up enough it’s gonna fall out any moment, and the wetness gluing his chest to Victor’s is starting to get sticky and cold. But all he can really think about is how Victor’s breath feels on his sternum and how that was the best fuck he’s had in his life and how jesus fucking christ he could never see Burt’s Bees again and it would be too soon. 

“Gold,” Chris finally mutters. “Definitely gold.”

Victor’s warm and snuggled up to him and kind of smiles happily to himself. He feels so good. It’s all soft around the edges but his body’s _alive_ and he’s just floating on the endorphins and oxytocin and this incredible cocktail of friendship and affection. Chris’ hand is still in his hair and he realizes how much he loves it. He scoots his head back ever so slightly, like a puppy begging to be pet, and Chris - exhausted, blissful, gobsmacked Chris - starts to slowly slide his fingers through Victor’s hair and along his scalp. 

He’s also trying not to fall asleep. Trying, failing. Someone should probably stay awake because Chris has heard those warnings at the end of the commercials and he’s not sure if either of them has gone _completely_ soft yet. He should probably make sure they do, and in the meantime he occupies himself with the fact that Victor’s gross sticky hair feels like unicorn dreams. 

But if they did fall asleep here, wouldn’t it be nice to wake up next to him?

Wait. What? 

Chris blushes in the lamplight for no apparent reason, but Victor can’t even call him on it because he’s tucked away beside him and under his chin, and worse than that his fingers - splayed so delicately across Chris’ chest - are doing that little twitch thing that happens as someone’s falling asleep. 

Chris’ blush deepens as he realizes he’s trapped, sleeping angel Victor as effective with one dainty hand as a bear trap. 

But his hand doesn’t stop petting him. Not until he finds himself drifting too, wandering in and out of waking dreams about Victor’s lips, and laugh, and...

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in more from this timeline? [Check out the collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Silly_Sweet_Serious_Sexy). (No, none are as funny as this. I'm sorry :( )
> 
>  **Twitter** : [@nomswords](https://twitter.com/nomswords)  
>  **Tumblr** : [nomanono](http://nomanono.tumblr.com/)


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